Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
More from Heidi Cullinan
Readers love the Copper Point Medical series by Heidi Cullinan
About the Author
By Heidi Cullinan
Visit Dreamspinner Press
Copyright
The Bookseller’s Boyfriend
By Heidi Cullinan
A Copper Point: Main Street Novel
Bookshop owner Jacob Moore can’t believe his longtime celebrity crush, author Rasul Youssef, is moving to Copper Point. For many, the chance to meet the playboy novelist would be a dream come true, but Jacob dreads it. You should never meet your heroes.
You definitely shouldn’t pretend to be their boyfriend.
Rasul came to this backwater town for an academic residency—a necessary evil, since he’s burned through his advance without finishing the book that goes with it. But he’s also getting distance from a toxic relationship. Quiet, reserved Jacob isn’t his type, but their charade gives Rasul a respite from the social media circus surrounding his breakup, and Jacob’s charming apartment proves the perfect setting to write.
Of course, prolonged exposure reveals that Jacob’s reserved exterior hides a thoughtful, intelligent man who sets Rasul’s imagination—and heart—alight.
Every day Rasul reveals himself to be more than Jacob ever dreamed he could. Jacob tries to be content with friendship and the professional overlap between author and bookseller, knowing a shooting star like Rasul could never make a home with Jacob in a small town like Copper Point.
Could he?
For Shawn and Holly
who already know how to get there
Chapter One
RASUL YOUSSEF knew he’d gone a bridge too far when his literary agent said, “Either throw away your phone, or consider our relationship terminated.”
Rasul smiled even though Elizabeth couldn’t see him. “You want me to throw away a brand-new fifteen-hundred-dollar phone? While I’m talking to you on it?”
He’d been trying to charm her into calming down, but Elizabeth wasn’t playing. “You’re getting a burner that can’t do anything but text and make or receive calls.” He heard clicking in the background. “There’s a store in campus town, four blocks from you.”
Rasul sobered. “I’m not going to throw away my phone.”
“I busted my ass to get you this gig at the university.”
“It has seven thousand students. It’s hardly a university.”
“Quit trying to get out of this through semantics. This is the end of the line for you in every way, which you well know. It’s taken every ounce of my leverage to get your publishing house to give you a fourth extension instead of insisting on the repayment of your advance.”
He truly hated being reminded of this. “I spent that a long time ago.”
“You think I don’t know that? You’re on the hook for a staggering chunk of change if you don’t provide them with something to publish. You’re out of options. You either write this book, or you’re heading toward an end I will not, and I say this with love, follow you down.”
Rasul sat on the couch that came with the furnished apartment. A cloud of dust rose around him.
Elizabeth kept delivering the hits. “I wish I could say I’m surprised you’d try to sandbag yourself when you’re this far against the ropes, but sadly I’ve come to know you too well for that. This is it, kid. I’m done watching you let that two-bit model stand on your back to get herself a better patch of mud in the gutter. I’m done explaining away the wild parties and Instagram stories when you should be working. And I’m absolutely done running damage control on paparazzi spreads of you and your damn ex partying so hard you missed your flight to Wisconsin.”
His flight had been to Minnesota, with a two-hour drive into Wisconsin, but he had enough self-preservation instinct not to point that out. “That wasn’t planned. Adina called me when I was low, and she was low too, and so…. Anyway. I’m in Copper Point now. I’ll send you pictures. It’s ridiculously small. And Bayview University is a joke.”
“The university, with its stipend, furnished apartment, and cushy teaching schedule, is your last chance at a career. You’re lucky the president is an eccentric old man who doesn’t read gossip magazines but did see your book in an airport once.”
Rasul couldn’t argue with this, which he hated. He still stung from his damn alma mater turning down his request to be visiting faculty. They bragged about him and his awards on their website, but they couldn’t let him come back and coast through some seminars while he finished his work?
Elizabeth kept going. “You’re an amazing writer, and you could be an excellent teacher. Yes, you received international acclaim for your freshman and sophomore novels. But your last work was out six years ago, and your third book is long overdue. As far as everyone else is concerned, you’ve been whoring around the globe instead of working. You and I know it’s more complicated than that, and I’ve done my best to be patient. At the same time, your decisions affect my career. If you can’t show me you’re serious, we’re going to part ways. This is our last conversation on the phone in your hand. It’s up to you whether or not we reset on another device. What will it be?”
Rasul ran a hand through his hair, letting his fingers tangle in the long curls. “I can’t go on a boozy bender with Adina while I’m in northern Wisconsin. There’s no need to get rid of my phone.”
“But you can get drunk and sext her, and you’ll put it on Instagram the same as last time.”
“I’ll uninstall Instagram and delete her number.”
“As if that will stop you when you hit a low. That woman is worse than any drug for you. She manipulates you, you know it, and you let her.”
He desperately wanted to argue that wasn’t true, but he was done lying to Elizabeth. He grunted noncommittally instead.
“Besides, you told me three times already you deleted her number. Either you’re lying, or you have it memorized.”
Best to get her away from this line of conversation where he had no chance of calming her down. “I need to be able to do research. Take photos. Look things up on the fly.”
“Last I checked, your book wasn’t set in Wisconsin, so the photo argument is bunk. As for research, you can use your laptop. You can go to the library. There’s no argument you can make that will change this condition. And as a bit of warning, if you try to tell me you need social media to promote yourself, I’ll hang up and send you the papers breaking our partnership immediately.”
He had considered that argument. She’d been frustrated with him for years for his inconsistent, unremarkable presence on social media, except for when he got drunk or angry with the state of American politics. His Twitter was him yelling at trolls. His Instagram was filled with drunken party photos. He’d cameoed on Adina’s YouTube channel, letting her put him in makeup, endured getting quizzed by her fans, and so on.
God, he’d put Elizabeth through the wringer. Maybe he should just let her go now and be done with it.
Except if he did that, he’d truly be out to sea. Even he could acknowledge he was on thin ice, career-wise and… well, in every manner possible.
But damn, his brand-new phone.
He leaned his forehead against the wi
ndow of his apartment, staring at a group of leggy college girls as they sauntered by. They were hot. So was the guy with them. So young, though.
Probably he shouldn’t let himself think things like that—they could be his students.
Man, but they were young. Little babies starting out in the world. They had no idea what hell waited for them.
Sighing, Rasul shut his eyes. “How about a compromise? I’ll mail you my phone.”
More clicking. “There’s a post office a block south of the cellular store. Seal your phone in an envelope, take it with you to the cellular shop. I’ll call ahead and arrange everything. You have forty minutes to comply. Call me on the new phone.”
She hung up.
For five minutes Rasul grumbled around the apartment. It was sterile and unwelcoming in the extreme—he’d never write a word here. It smelled funny, like the previous resident had cooked nothing but hamburgers and french fries, and the decor was abysmal. Why couldn’t Elizabeth have put him up in some quaint waterfront cabin?
Because you don’t have the money for that, and thanks to you, neither does she or her agency. No one else is going to bail you out either. You’ve spent the last few years subliminally sabotaging your career and all your connections. She’s the last person willing to stand by you, and she’s about to walk out the door. Get your ass out of this apartment and to the post office.
His first instinct was to defy that chiding voice, to go find a bar and get wasted. It was difficult to turn away from that impulse, but he had enough self-preservation left to understand this was his last shot. Time to commit to a career and a liver and a chance at happiness that lasted beyond a drink, a joint, or the hit of a pill. This was his final opportunity to stop disappointing his friends, his family, and himself.
It was humiliating as hell, and he hated it with every fiber of his being, but Rasul grabbed his keys and wallet—and phone—and headed out the door, ready to do as Elizabeth told him.
The one consolation was that it was nice outside, and while the apartment complex left a lot to be desired, the neighborhood was quaint, charming even. The walk to the post office was tree-lined, and amazingly, some of the leaves had already started to turn. To be expected, he supposed, since he was so far north. The post office itself was a combination of ancient and clumsy modern renovation that amused him. He did have to fight the clerk when he said he wanted to take the envelope with him unsealed.
“They’re real strict about you taking metered postage out of here.” The clerk, a pretty woman in her twenties, regarded Rasul with apology. “You can’t add any weight to it at all, and it has to go out today or it’ll be a mess.”
Rasul had no idea this was a thing. Frowning, he tried to decide what to do. “Do I have to buy different postage, then?”
“It’ll be tricky with the insurance. Sorry.” Tapping a manicured nail against her cheek, she considered the metered envelope between them. Coming to some kind of decision, she leaned forward and spoke in low tones. “Tell you what. You go ahead and take it with you. But you gotta promise you’ll mail it today, and don’t tell anybody else I did it.”
“You’re an angel. Thank you so much.” He picked up the envelope and tucked it into his shoulder bag. “Should I bring it back here to be mailed?”
She waved a hand. “Nah, just take it into any mailbox by five.”
After thanking her again, he headed back to the street to head to the cellular store. Strolling beneath the tree canopy again, he followed his phone’s GPS to the mobile phone retailer on University Avenue. Damn, but that was actually going to be a problem. He could get lost in a paper bag.
He received a few long stares as he meandered. A couple of people seemed to know him on sight, which wasn’t surprising. He’d been in the scandal junket a lot during the year with Adina, and of course there was the news fresh off the presses from last night. Elizabeth hadn’t called him because she’d been trolling his ’gram. He was wearing his “disguise” outfit—sunglasses, hair pulled back in a ponytail, grungy clothes—but since that’s what he kept getting photographed in, it was more advertisement than camouflage.
Man, but he really didn’t want to give out any autographs right now, or field any curious questions. He double-timed it for the cellular store.
The place was busy as he entered, but a manager came from behind the counter, smiling. “Mr. Youssef, this way, please. I already spoke to your agent and have your purchase waiting, and I’ll be mailing her your phone.”
Several people watched him, a few only perking up at his Arabian surname. Rasul did his best to ignore them. “I need to transfer a few numbers before I hand over my other phone, though.”
“She already gave me the numbers she says you’ll need and had me preprogram them. Would you like to check them to verify?”
Goddamn it. Yes, he would, but he knew better than to try. Odds were good she’d ask the manager if he added any. “No, it’s fine. Thanks.”
If the manager caught the annoyance in his tone, he ignored it. “Very good.” He handed a small black object to Rasul. “Here you are.”
A flip phone. An actual flip phone, as if it were 2007. To send a text, he’d have to fumble through the dial pad. Seriously, she couldn’t even let him text? He wanted to toss the phone and storm out.
Instead he opened it, verified the only numbers listed were Elizabeth’s, his parents’, and the dean of Bayview University. He pocketed the device. “Thanks.”
The manager’s smile didn’t dim. “And your envelope for me?”
With a heavy sigh, Rasul passed over the envelope and his smartphone. “The woman at the post office was incredibly insistent this had to go out today with the postage I put on it with no weight added.”
The manager took it. “Thank you. I’ll get this out right away, as is.” He hesitated, and Rasul knew what was coming before the man spoke. “Would it be rude of me to ask for your autograph?”
Oh, but it would have been satisfying to snarl and refuse. Instead Rasul inclined his head and waited as the man scrambled for pen and paper. The people who’d seemed concerned at his surname now looked vaguely interested. Rasul didn’t stick around to let them query him.
As soon as he was out of the building, he called Elizabeth on the new, terrible phone.
“Well done,” she said, not even bothering with a greeting. “You still had fifteen minutes to spare.”
“How much did you pay that guy to do your bidding?”
“Hmm, let’s see. I can’t remember, but it was less than the amount of money I’ve lost trying to prop up a selfish playboy, so it seems an investment well made.”
Touché. “Just don’t take my laptop, all right? Otherwise you’ll never get a novel.”
“Oh, if I don’t get a satisfying update within the next ten days, I’ll have the campus tech guys restrict your search ability so narrowly you’ll be using the card catalog to look things up.”
“I don’t think they actually have those anymore.”
“It’s interesting how you’d rather argue about these conditions instead of work.”
“Look, you know damn well creativity isn’t a tap you turn on and off. I can’t just suffer this kind of humiliation and then cavalierly whip out another chapter.”
“I’ve been an agent for twenty-three years, and my wife is a painter. I understand the whims of creativity painfully well. But you’ve proven partying and destroying your image online isn’t giving you the pump-priming you need. My gift to you is a new source of potential inspiration. Take walks. People-watch. Pick up a new hobby. Make friends who don’t want to use you. Go find something new to read. I hear they have a lovely bookstore there.”
Rasul pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t as simple as a lack of inspiration, not at all, but he wasn’t going to bring that up. In fact, the one thing he’d figured out was all the partying was an effort to keep from thinking about the problem. Giving Elizabeth the corner of his mental carpet meant she’d wrench it u
p with one yank, leaving him no choice but to examine the mold and writhing insects beneath.
“Ten days,” she said. “I’m going to contact you in ten days, and you’re going to tell me about your progress. I won’t tell you what that has to look like except that you’ll have to convince me you’re moving forward enough for this to continue. It goes without saying that if I see a single social media post from you or about you, it’s over.”
That made him panic. “Look, I can’t help it if other people talk about me.”
“Let me rephrase: if I see a post that makes me think you’ve end-run me, we’ll have a problem.”
He didn’t relax. “Adina has a lot of photos. A lot.” And a few naughty videos, some of which made him sweat at night.
“Oh, trust me, she’s receiving a similar call from her agent, though I think that relationship is beyond saving. If I see any photos from her, I’ll do my own investigations. Don’t worry about her or anyone else. Do whatever you have to in order to finish this book.”
With that, she hung up on him.
Grimacing, Rasul pocketed the phone and stuffed his hands in his pockets, no longer interested in the quaint scenery. Which direction was his apartment? Of course, he didn’t want to go there anyway. He had some welcome gala for new faculty that night, but that wasn’t until eight. It was four in the afternoon now. Way too many hours to kill.
He started wandering.
There were a lot of shops on University Avenue. An Indian restaurant, Italian restaurant, a Wiccan shop, comics store, art gallery… huh. This place had a little more culture than he would have suspected. There were a lot of bars, and they were tempting, but going there was a step backward, not forward. He considered Café Sól, a charming, understatedly elegant coffee shop, but it looked more crowded than he was ready for right now.
University Avenue eventually led to a small highway, and after crossing at the light, Rasul noticed the street name had changed, as had the businesses dotting it. Main Street Copper Point was more what he’d expected to see in this one-horse town. A community center, Lutheran Church, library, tae kwon do club, and Christian book and supply store. He wondered what the people who shopped there thought of the Wiccan store on the other end of the street.
The Bookseller's Boyfriend Page 1
